The Pacific coast steals all my favorite lovers.
It puts stars in their eyes
marries them off
drives them insane
and has them arrested and leaves them bloodied and sleeping in their cars.
The Pacific Coast carries my ashes
pedacitos de amores abandonados/asesinados sin explicacion.
Remnants of half packed equipaje float along
waving silent goodbyes to the places I have rested my head
and spread my legs.
Y alli hay una hija de alguien
No es mia
tampoco es tuyo
y ella lleva me nombre
A before E
to keep the hormigas away
y espero que ella no sea como yo
espero que ella todavia cree en el amor.
Tienes que desaparecer como lo hizo el.
Out of sight
Out of mind
that I was wearing you
when I met him.
Tienes que ir con tu hermana
who also started to remind me too much
of what a failure I am at relationships.
A crear nuevas memorias
encima del cuerpo de otra mujer
who may have better luck
quien quizas transformara tu color de luto
en color de festival
Tiro mi deseo al viento
con vibraciones desde mis cuerdas vocales,
ofrezco mi verso en el altar del olvido.
Pero los poemas se hablan.
Entre ellos hay conversaciones
que los mortales no pueden escuchar.
El lírico es peticion
y otra stanza la respuesta.
that I have squeezed
all the juice
out if this
and I can throw away
the useless pulp
that doesn’t have your name
Que significa cuando ella aparece en mis sueños mas que tu?
En el ultimo
como el imagen de la virgincita
pero no la morena
la original de la biblia
y pinturas de Roma,
ella me da su perdon
armamos un arbolito de navidad
quizas para colocar su hijo
debajo de el
y mi mirada
no se mueve
de su pansa.
Me pregunto si las diez letras de bronce
estan enredadas en una esquina de tu bolsillo,
si de ves en cuando tus dedos acarician mi nombre
I think I have partially given up on trying to do a poem a day. With the Passover and Easter holidays, my tutoring schedule has been amped up making my “day job” actually take my whole fucking day and full time mami’hood! I mean it’s nice to be able to pay bills and all pero pobre de mi poesia.
No se que creer:
la textura de tu agradecimiento invisible
que sonaba como un adios
las lagrimas que se quedaron en nuestros ojos
despues del ultimo adios
Todo entre nosotros llego demasiado tarde:
el encuentro inicial
el mensaje escrito en la corteza aterciopelada.
It’s National Poetry Month and I want to, desperately need to find/return to the habits I formed years ago when I started this blog(s) and all of it’s incarnations. So I will share pedazos of works – finished and those I am working on everyday of this month.
Over the last few years though something has happened. On stage, on paper, and and on the internet, I’ve censored my voice because I became fearful of the scrutiny, the scalpel, of others’ eyes and their piecing together of my words, creating a story that is not an accurate representation of my feelings – forget history. That’s not to say that poesia, specifically my own, is not a reflection of my narrative. It is. Pero it is my narrative, which feels true only to my corazon pero may not reflect that of others who are intimately involved or who think they are.
Reconozco, I recognize that poetry is often about interpretation, pero only the poet really knows what she meant, or at least she fronts like she does. For me, it is often about what I don’t know. It is about the process unfolding under my pen, beneath the teclado. It is a channeling, lighting my fingers on fire and letting the ashes speak in tongues.
Abuela Lucia, I know you know what I am writing about.
So I do this, without apology pero tambien giving notice que estas son mis palabras. I own them and the place from where they are born. Everything else is just interpretation.
I haven’t written as much as I would have liked in this week that poroto has been gone.
Correction, I haven’t written as much poetry as I would have liked. I’ve written two pretty good blog posts: one about Haiti, the other about the SOTU by the POTUS (ja ja those acronyms crack me up).
Pero I am now in a corner and will probably have a poetry writing bender as I always like to do at least one new poem whenever I have a reading. I have a reading this Saturday, January 29, 2010, at 5:30 pm at the Bowery Poetry Club as part of the NYC Latina Writer’s Group.
For NYC peeps, the Bowery Poetry Club is located in Downtown Manhattan at 308 Bowery
(Between Houston and Bleecker)
You can take the F train to 2nd Ave, 6 to Bleecker.
Pero check this out peeps, you can watch me online. Apparently The Bowery Poetry Club livestreams all of its happenings, so from coast to coast, continent to continent you can hear me spit some poetic puterias.